Diary of a mad man

Of the 35 places they said we most frequent (and now should be avoided for fear of contracting the virus), none listed our inner space.

Like a character in Steven King’s The Shinning, we are all bored to tears, having self-isolated for the whole damn year. Paranoid, apprehension, compassion fatigue and self-deprecation (from survivor’s guilt – 500,000 deaths by end of February). We hate ourselves, for being born in this century, having lived through this year, and having to put up with circumstances not of our own choosing.

Some even went further in defying the reality of an election, and other facts of life like donning a mask, and staying home.

It’s hard. We are more “Papillon” (Steve McQueen) who escaped after his many trials, than Dustin Hoffman (who stayed in the island and planted tomatoes).

We are mad. Some turn it outward. Others inward.

Undertandably so.

After all, we’re social animals. Nomads. Hunters and gatherers. Even our phones say so (mobile phones).

Information want to be free. Don’t individuals want the same.

I don’t see how Apple can sell many of their 12th version this year. By all counts, it should be the return of the desktops.

Of Zoom and Skype, of wireline telephony and cable television.

I am bored, I am bored, I am bored.

Feet planted in the confine of the four walls, listening to “Day after Day” by the Badfingers.

Smack in the middle of winter. Feeling betrayed, self-betrayed. All those dreams, trips and experiences, denied.

It’s one thing to be polite and civil “Good Morning”. It’s another to anticipate stranger’s path and avoid him/her out right, purposefully and by conditional reflex.

if any damage done during this year, it’s that we have been accustomed to social avoidance and Purell.

We have turned inward, by circumstances. We have become “mad Maxes”, with long beards and less-than-desired appearances. On top of that, Social Media, as if not already addictive, provide us with planned self-reinvention….(on line, we don’t need to wash our hands, and stay socially distant), one of David Bowie’s many 1999 correct predictions.

I am mad like Hell (but I don’t drag the wooden Cross across the Capitol).

I am mad like Hell (but I don’t take selfies during a botched insurrection at the Capitol).

I am mad but I don’t plough my car into the crowd of genuine protesters to advance my cause.

Me against the world of virus, of elements out of control, out of hand. Season comes and goes.

People too. But I stay, become my full self, both adversary and friend. Although mad at the world, I need to make peace with myself. After all, it’s who I have to live with far into the future.

Reflections of my life. Diary of a mad man. Mine and yours. In the times of covid. Near the end times, but not yet the end.